


With Flowers on the Window Sill

by Chash



Series: Holiday Fills 2017 [15]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gilmore Girls Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Even after ten years in Arcadia, Clarke can't say she feels particularly great with all their odd, local customs. Then again, Bellamy actively hates them, so he's probably not the best person for her to ask for help.But he's the one he wants to spend time with. So there's no harm in asking.





	With Flowers on the Window Sill

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [prsephonies](http://prsephonies.tumblr.com/) and [blakebrother](http://blakebrother.tumblr.com/)!

"Okay," says Clarke. "Here's what I don't get about Unity Day."

"It's a made-up holiday," Bellamy grumbles, automatic. "You don't get anything about it." He eyes her mug, which she's been nudging closer for the last few minutes, hoping he'll get the hint. "You've had enough."

"It's coffee, not crack."

"Caffeine is still a drug. It should be controlled like tobacco and alcohol."

"Have you ever considered that if you didn't want to give people coffee, you maybe shouldn't have opened a diner?"

" _People_  are fine, it's you I'm worried about," he says, but he refills her mug.

She takes a deep sip and then focuses her attention back on him. "Here's what I don't get," she says, drumming her fingers on the counter. "You grew up here. You've lived here for your entire life. And yet every year, when we hit a weird Arcadia celebration, you're still angry about it."

"Sorry, are  _you_  telling me I can't be angry about things? You?"

"No, not that. I'm just trying to figure out the history here. You've lived in Arcadia for your entire life, these things have been going for your entire life. Did you like Unity Day when you were a kid, and then at some point realize it was shitty and stop liking it? Like how some places are renaming Columbus Day because Columbus was racist. Or were you, like, eight years old and picketing against local holidays? Paint me a word picture."

He snorts, and she feels a small swoop of triumph in her stomach.

Clarke still thinks of herself as a new addition to Arcadia, even though she's been here for almost ten years. It's a town with the kind of memory that doesn't quite make sense to her, as a girl from the rich part of the big city. Her parents had moved there only a year before she was born, and even living in the same place for her whole childhood, Clarke never felt  _rooted_ , not the way people feel rooted in Arcadia. There are feuds that go back generations here, property disputes that span centuries.

She's still figuring out how things fit together, and Bellamy is a part of that mystery. He seems to have decided his place in Arcadia is the town grump, but he's only thirty-four, not that much older than Clarke herself. And he's been the town grump for as long as she's been here, and had already settled into the role by the time she moved in, which means he must have started pretty young. And now that Clarke can, on occasion, make him laugh, she figures it's time to press the advantage and see what she can find out about him.

"When I was a kid, I was always planning to get out of here," he admits, watching her sidelong. "I hated all this--small-town bullshit."

"You say, like you don't still hate it."

"Not like I used to. Before my mom died, I just didn't do any of this stuff. When I was a kid I just stayed inside and read during town holidays." She has to laugh, and he glares. "What?"

"I'm just imagining it. Sulky teenage Bellamy reading--" She thinks it over, clucking her tongue. "Greek tragedies. Alone in your room while the rest of the town celebrates."

"Pretty much. I was so ready to leave all of this behind."

Clarke sobers a little; she knows this part of the story. "And then your mom died."

"And then my mom died. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I live here. I want to. After O left, I thought about going too. I could have sold the store and taken off."

"So why didn't you?"

He looks out to the middle distance, really thinking over the response. "Because I wanted to leave just to leave. I didn't have anywhere I wanted to  _go_. I made up my mind when I was a kid that I wasn't going to end up like my mom, stuck in some dead-end town. But once I wasn't stuck, I realized I like a lot of stuff here."

"Just not the weird holidays and traditions?"

"I'm a conscientious objector," he says. "Reminding people that you can be part of the community without buying into every single one of Mrs. Kane's weirdo traditions."

"And you are, aren't you?" she says, with a smile.

He just cocks his head. "I'm what?"

"Part of the community."

"The curmudgeon," he agrees, and she laughs.

Madi comes in before she figures out a follow-up, taking the seat next to Clarke and beaming at Bellamy, and that's kind of a relief. It takes some of the pressure off her.

"Got an A on my Latin test," she tells Bellamy. "So, free coffee?"

"Like I ever charge you for coffee," he says. "No refills, though. Just because your mom has bad habits doesn't mean you have to. Let me see the test."

She was clearly expecting the question; she already has the sheet out, and she and Bellamy trade mug for paper, like she really is paying him. Bellamy leans back against the wall, scanning the text.

Bellamy's affection for Madi was the first thing that started changing Clarke's mind about him, once she noticed it. For the first few years in Arcadia, before she'd settled in, before she'd gotten used to her new life, she didn't come to the diner much. It wasn't until Madi was eight or nine that she realized that  _she_  was in here all the time after school, working on homework, and that Bellamy not only didn't object but encouraged her, helped her with homework questions and gave her free cookies sometimes.

Clarke hadn't dealt with it particularly well at the time, and the argument about how he was butting into her daughter's life and how he wouldn't have to do that if she was around more had kept the two of them at odds for a couple more years.

Now, she's finally settling into liking him, and it feels like where they should have been all along. She thinks she was meant to be friends with Bellamy Blake.

"How was school?" she asks Madi, while Bellamy reads. "Aside from the Latin test."

She shrugs. "Fine. Kind of boring. We started doing soccer in gym, that's fun. I'm a pretty good goalie." She narrows her eyes, suspicion creeping into her features. "What are you doing here, anyway? Don't you have work?"

Bellamy looks up from Madi's test. "She makes a good point. Did you come here just to make fun of me about Unity Day?"

"What's wrong with Unity Day?"

"Don't get him started," says Clarke. "I actually wanted to ask if you'd partner with me for it."

"For Unity Day," he says, dubious. "Which we've just established that I hate."

"I can't cook," says Clarke, and Madi snorts.

"Wow, understatement of the decade, Mom."

Clarke ignores her. "I want to have some food to offer for the Unity Day walk, and I need someone to cater. I figured I'd rather pay you than someone I don't know, but if you hate it that much--"

"You want me to make you food for Unity Day?"

"It's a good opportunity to get people into the gallery," she says. "From outside of Arcadia. I need to put my best foot forward, and that means--I don't even know. Hot chocolate? Maybe some cookies?"

Bellamy crosses his arms over his chest, jaw tight. "What's in it for me?"

"Besides money?"

"Money isn't everything, Clarke."

She rolls her eyes, but it's not as if she didn't see this coming.  _Stubborn asshole_  is his brand. "You have somewhere else to be for Unity Day."

"You're going to give me a paid vacation?"

"You can hang out at the gallery," says Clarke. "In the back, if you want. Say you're cooking, read a book. Whatever you want. But you won't have to be here, dealing with tourists and wanting to murder them."

Bellamy shifts a little, clearly weighing the appeal of this idea, and Clarke sits back, letting him process. She does, for the most part, understand his perspective. She doesn't love all of the quaint little Arcadia traditions, and Unity Day is a particularly bizarre and misguided one, a town-wide equivalent of the phrase  _happy holidays_ , where they try to honor all the various winter festivals by creating a non-denominational day to just celebrate coming together as a community.

She can see the appeal, but overall, she thinks the execution is lacking. Still, it's basically a holiday fair, and this is her first holiday season with her own gallery. She wants to do it right, which means bringing people in the door.

"You don't bake?" he finally asks her.

"What?"

"I feel like you'd be a good baker."

"Based on what?"

"You're--" He glances at Madi and apparently rethinks what he was going to say. "Detail-oriented. My sister always hated baking because she had to follow the recipe exactly. She liked just throwing stuff together to see what happened."

"I guess I never tried much," she says. "My mom never cooked, neither did my dad. We had people to do that for us."

"And instead of developing life skills, you decided to live off takeout and caffeine. Sounds about right. You have to help me bake the cookies," he decides.

"What?"

"I'll do your Unity Day catering if you help me with the cookies."

"I'm taking out the cost of my labor out of what I pay you."

"Honestly, you should be paying me extra for teaching you to bake. You can help too, if you want," he adds to Madi, and she shrugs.

"I don't know if I really want to witness Mom's first attempt at baking. Maybe, like, the fourth batch, once someone else eats some first. So I know it's safe."

"Thanks. Really." She turns her attention to Bellamy, watching him again. He's looking back at her, just as steady. "So, deal, right? You're in?"

"I'm in, yeah. If you make me talk to art gallery patrons--"

"I want to sell paintings, not scare everyone off," she teases. "You can hide in the back reading  _Antigone_. I promise."

"Cool, pleasure doing business with you. No," he adds, when Madi holds her mug up for him.

"Mom says it's okay."

"Your mom is an enabler. I'm putting my foot down. Eat a vegetable."

"Or we could go home and order Chinese food," says Clarke, and Bellamy rolls his eyes.

"It's not going to be my fault when you two die of malnutrition."

"It's definitely not," she agrees. "We can figure out when we're baking later this week?"

He touches his finger to his head, something like a salute. "Looking forward to it."

It sounds almost genuine.

*

“When’s that holiday fair you’re having?” Abby asks, on Friday.

Clarke and Madi exchange a look, wary. The weekly dinners with Clarke’s mother are still relatively new, and still a little difficult. Clarke’s decision to keep Madi after her parents died never sat right with Abby, and it wasn’t until Jake died two years ago that she reached out to reconnect. Clarke and her dad, at least, had maintained friendly contact in the post-Madi world, but Abby struggled.

Clarke’s happy to have her mother back, but she always feels a little like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Unity Day?” Madi supplies, tentative, and Abby snaps her fingers.

“That was it. I was thinking I could come down.”

This time, Madi actually looks alarmed, and Clarke doesn’t bother hiding her own shock from her mother either.

“You want to come to Arcadia?”

“I don’t feel as if I’ve been entirely fair,” says Abby. It’s simultaneously an understatement and a staggering admission. Only her mother can pull that off. “You’ve put so much work into your gallery and I haven’t even been down to see it.”

“It’s a long drive,” says Clarke, not sure why she’s arguing, except that Abby in Arcadia feels wrong, like the world knocked of its orbit. Arcadia exists outside of Abby Griffin.

“One you make every week for dinner,” Abby shoots back. “Do you not want me there?”

The question sounds genuine, but there’s no way to say no without sounding like an asshole. Her mother wants to come see her new business. As Abby said, if anyone is in the wrong here, it’s her for taking so long.

“Just surprised,” she says. “It’s two weeks from Saturday.”

“Clarke’s going to make cookies,” Madi adds, and Clarke shoots her a glare.

Abby looks mildly shocked. “You are?”

“Not on my own. Most of the businesses have some snacks out to lure in visitors, so the guy who owns the diner is going to help me out with cookies and stuff.”

“The diner? I’m surprised Arcadia doesn’t have a bakery.”

It does, of course, but Clarke doesn’t really know Nyko very well. He’s a nice guy who certainly would have made cookies if Clarke paid him, but—well, he’s not  _Bellamy_.

“Bellamy bakes too,” says Madi. “And he and Clarke are friends.”

“And this way I get to work on my baking,” Clarke says.  _Friends_  feels like an overly optimistic take on her and Bellamy's relationship, but arguing with Madi about it in front of her mother will not make anything better.

"Perfect," says Abby. "So I'll see you then?"

There's still no way to say no, so she tries a smile instead. "Yeah. Looking forward to it."

*

Bellamy takes baking seriously, which doesn't really  _surprise_  her, but it is kind of adorable. Not only does he convince Nyko to let them use the bakery kitchen, but he brings an apron  _and_  a hairnet for Clarke, as well as a thermos of coffee.

"I thought you wanted me to cut back."

"This is all you're getting today," he says. "I assume that's actually less than you usually have."

From an academic standpoint, it's an interesting statement. It's not like Clarke carefully monitors her caffeine intake on a daily basis to see how many pints of coffee she's drinking. She just sort of has it until she stops wanting it.

"Well, thanks anyway," she says. "For your mild enabling. And the apron."

“Yeah, it didn’t sound like you had your own.” He wets his lips, and if Clarke didn’t know better, she’d say he was nervous. But he definitely knows how to bake. “So, I figured iced sugar cookies. They’re pretty safe, in terms of allergens, and I got stuff so we can do one gluten free batch. And you’re an artist, so you can handle decorations, right?”

“I’ve never worked on cookies, but probably, yeah. What shapes are approved for Unity Day? I’m guessing no trees.”

“No evergreens, anyway. Snowmen are cool. Stars. I was thinking we could do palettes, though.”

“Palettes?”

“The little, uh—“ He pulls out a piece paper, where he’s sketched one of the round palettes. He  _prepped_  for this. “I figure we can make a giant batch and recruit Madi to help decorate. A coat of white on all of them, and then colored dots for paint. Unless you’d rather go winter-themed.”

“No, this is perfect,” she says, and means it. “Really, thanks.”

He looks so genuinely pleased that her heart stops for a second. She's never seen him look so unguarded before, and she likes it. "Awesome. Shouldn't be too hard." He nods once. "Okay, aprons on, hands washed. Ready to start?"

Clarke wasn't expecting it to be bad or anything. On the contrary, she's been excited for this all week, but it's been the kind of excitement where she looking forward a lot more to spending time with Bellamy than she was actually doing the cooking. She thought he'd make the baking better, and while he definitely does, she also actually really likes baking. Seeing the ingredients coming together, watching the texture of the batter change as they work, it's all really neat.

Bellamy is smug about it, but that's not really bad either. "I told you you'd like baking," is all he says, and she elbows him.

She'd been a little wary about the early start he'd requested, but it takes them until eleven to finish the batches of dough, and then they apparently have to cool for a while before they're used.

"We could grab lunch?" she asks, voice coming out more hopeful than she really meant it to.

But he just smiles. "Yeah, I told Miller we were going to hit the diner when we were done here. Do you want to get Madi?"

"No, she's set. Hanging out with Anna for a while. We might be able to talk them into helping us decorate, but I don't think lunch is enough of a draw."

"Fair enough, lunch is boring." He waits until they're in the booth to say, "You know, she was telling me about your mom the other day. Madi, I mean."

"Yeah, she's coming down for Unity Day. I think Madi and I are both just waiting for it to go wrong."

He drums his fingers on the table, thinking. "So, can I ask? Or is it too soon?"

"Ask what?"

"I don't actually know what happened with you and Madi. Or you and your mom. I remember when you showed up in town, but--"

But she'd arrived just as the diner was opening up, and between his being busy with that and her being busy with Madi, it was at least two years before she learned  _Bellamy Blake_  was the male owner of the diner and not a woman she'd been nodding to on her way to work at the bus stop.

"So, no background at all?"

"I know she's not your biological daughter," he says. "But she was, what, four when you guys moved here?"

"Five." She sighs. "It was probably kind of like you and the store, actually."

"Yeah?"

"I was in college, feeling kind of--not lost, exactly, but I couldn't figure out why I wasn't happier. I was doing everything I'd wanted to do since I was a kid, but I wasn't happy."

"So you dropped out of school and adopted a kid?"

"Not exactly. I did, but--I was interning at a hospital over the summer, and Madi's parents were in a car crash. Her dad died in the crash, but her mom made it to the hospital, and she made me promise to make sure her daughter was taken care of. And I know I didn't have to do it," she adds, because she's had this conversation so many times she has her lines memorized. "I know there were a thousand other things I could have done besides taking her myself. But I wanted to."

"And your mom didn't think you should?"

"No. My dad got it a little more, but--my mom's a doctor, she wanted me to be a doctor too. So she took it pretty personally when I dropped out of college to move to a small town and raise a kid."

"Which is why your incredibly rich family wasn't helping you out with fiances?"

"My dad did a little," she says. "He made sure we had enough money to find a place, and--" She shrugs. "Look, I know how lucky I am. They never would have let us starve or anything. But my mom made it clear that if I wanted her help, I'd have to get someone else to take care of Madi."

"And now she's trying to make friends?" He doesn't sound impressed.

"My dad died a couple years ago, it made her reconsider a lot of things. If I asked her for money now, she'd probably say yes, but--"

"But then you'd be asking her for money."

"Yeah. I know the self-made person thing is bullshit, but--I've been getting by fine on my own for all these years. If I tell her I need her help now, I feel like it's admitting to her that I can't. I ask for stuff for Madi," she adds. "For Christmas and birthdays. Just not for me."

"I'm not going to say I get it," he admits. "But you're good, right? The gallery's doing okay?"

"Yeah, and it's--this feels a lot more like  _my_  life, I guess. Not just what my parents decided for me. And I like it here. I'm happy this is where we ended up."

"Me too," he says, like he means it, and Clarke feels warm down to her toes.

*

"So, do I need to do anything special?" Bellamy asks, on Unity Day.

It's been a slightly weird week. It wasn't as if Clarke hadn't known she liked him, and even that she was attracted to him, but those vague, easy-to-ignore crush feelings have kicked into full gear since they made the cookies together. It's not actually out-of-character for her to go to the diner every day, but it feels weightier now, like when she went to the dining hall at the same time Lexa did freshman year so she could just happen to run into her.

But if Bellamy's noticed, he doesn't mind. He seems happy to have her around, and he's even stopped by the gallery a few times, ostensibly because he's checking to see how she's setting up for the fair, but Clarke's pretty sure it's actually just that they're friends.

And maybe he wants to make out. That would be nice.

"Special?" she asks.

"I don't know, your mom's here. Do you need backup? Is there a special signal you want to use to tell me that you need me to come and tell you there's an emergency?"

"I thought you were going to be hiding in the back, never interacting with anyone."

"Not the whole time." He rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry, did you not want anyone to see me? I can--"

"Bellamy," she says, smiling. "If you want to hang out, talking to tourists, be my guest, but you don't have to. I promise I'll be fine. My mom's not that scary."

"Is Madi going to be around?"

"Some, yeah. She's mostly hanging out with friends, but she'll stop by. We're getting dinner at your place, actually."

"You're taking your rich mom to my diner?" he asks, sounding dubious.

"I like your diner. Besides, all the restaurants are booked up. We can always just get stuff from you to go and eat it later. And," she adds, in the interest of full disclosure, "she's curious about you."

He frowns. "Why?"

"Madi told her about the cookies, she thinks we're friends."

"Are we not?" he asks, mild.

"BFFs," she says, deadpan, but when she smiles, he does too. "I didn't mean we weren't friends, just--it's kind of weird for  _that_  to be what my mom knows about you."

"As opposed to what?"

"I don't know. It's weird that she wants to scope you out."

"No offense, but everything about your mom seems weird. But I can lay low, if you don't want her to be weird about me."

"Definitely not. You should be hanging out as much as possible. I want to see what she thinks of you."

He raises his eyebrows. "You know  _you're_  being weird about this too, right?"

"I know. I'm nervous, I want backup. And I want my mom to--she's never been here before, and Unity Day really isn't my thing. It feels like she's not going to see what's good about the town, why I like it here."

It's true, but until he frowns, the implications are lost on her. "I'm what's good about town?"

"People like you, yeah."

"Huh. Good to know." He rubs the back of his neck, his favorite nervous gesture and hers too. "So just tell me where you want me," he says, spreading his arms out. "I'm at your disposal."

"You're going to regret that," she says, bright, and he laughs.

"Do your worst."

*

Unity Day, as a small business owner, is  _a lot_ , and Bellamy is a blessing to have around. Clarke has a couple high-school kids who help out after school, but they're not great with people, and Bellamy, somehow,  _is_. For all he's the town curmudgeon, as soon as he's helping her, it's like a flip is switched. Suddenly he's warm and charming and easy, actually knows about the art, and full of praise for her and the gallery.

"How do you even know this much?" she asks, during a lull in the crowd.

"I'm really smart."

"About the gallery."

"Madi talks about it all the time. You too. And I've been visiting, remember? I was doing research."

"You really didn't have to do all this. Not that I don't appreciate it, but I know you don't even like Unity Day. I wasn't expecting--"

"I wanted to help out," he says. He takes a step closer, and Clarke's heart flips, lurches, and starts beating double time. "I--"

"Clarke!"

They both startle, moving apart automatically, and Clarke gives her mother a weak smile. She has Marcus Kane with her, of all people, and the she looks--happy, mostly.

"Hey, Mom," she says, smooth. "You found the place."

"I do have GPS," she says, dry. "The store looks wonderful. You must be very proud." Her attention shifts to Bellamy. "And you must be--"

"Helping out," he supplies, offering his hand. "Bellamy Blake."

"It's a pleasure to meet you. You're responsible for the cookies?"

"Clarke did a lot of the work," he says. "She just needed a little guidance."

"And I believe we'll be having dinner at your place?"

"Yeah. My best friend is manning the grill tonight, he'll take care of you."

"Oh, you aren't joining us?" Abby asks, surprised, and Clarke jumps on it.

"Of course he is. Right, Bellamy?"

His smile is a little crooked. "Yeah. Happy to."

Kane takes point on showing Abby around the gallery, and by the time they're gone, Clarke and Bellamy are busy again, and don't get a break until the retail hours finish and they're wrapping up.

"You really don't mind me having dinner with you guys?" he asks. "I can feed myself."

"I want you to have dinner with us," she says. "I really appreciate your help." She wets her lips. "And I want to find out what you were going to say earlier."

His mouth tugs up at the corner. "Would you believe me if I said I was going to say I wished Unity Day had mistletoe so I had an excuse to kiss you?"

"Not really, but it's not a bad line."

"Yeah, I've been working on it." He reaches over to tuck her hair out of her face. "Seriously, I've been looking for an excuse to spend more time with you for years."

"You don't need an excuse, just ask."

"Awesome. You want to go do the Unity Day walk before dinner?"

"Definitely not," she says, and tugs him down for a kiss.

*

She and Madi head over to the diner together the next morning.

"It's not like I'm not happy for you," she's saying. "I am. It just took  _so long_. Like, you couldn't have just asked him on a date months ago? Like a normal person? He made you pancakes for your birthday."

"Yeah, but all he gave me was a print off about the dangers of caffeine addiction. Being an adult is hard, okay? This stuff takes time."

"It's been like  _ten years_."

Clarke holds the door open for her. Bellamy looks up at the sound of the bells over the door, breaks out into a wide grin at the sight of them, and Clarke feels her own smile growing in response.

"Pathetic," Madi mutters.

"I know, I know," says Clarke. "Worth it."


End file.
